the age of raw hide

the guirtle consumed mother werewolf. she was beyond oxygen consumption. fortunately, bukowski the bald eagle was aware of this tragedy. he glanced at his rolex. a murmur in his throat thrusted him forwards. he became a new type of creature: a dinosaur. in the meantime, mother werewolf blue and tender, began to coo his name. "bukowski, bukowski, where are you my shorty?" the tremors of the earth and the vibrations of sunwaves cast upon her silky face. immediately, he knew what to do and what not to do. carefully, and nakedly, he swung his new giant tail in the general direction of mother werewolf. by the fibers of her coat, he gingerly caressed mother werewolf's eyelashes and said, "the silkiest fiber the world will ever know." and then he knew the truth about his stepfather. he had been there all along, rubbing and tracing fingertips along the epidermis, back and forth, like angels singing on clouds. the dementia his stepfather had endured for many years was thus removed permanently. mother werewolf, again, felt the departure of lost souls, prehistoric and beyond. she felt the release and the rough caress of calico on her eyeballs. Her pupils melted and then she felt nothing in her soul. thus came the footprints of sunsets in the atmosphere of cottontails and blasts of universes beyond.